“I’m sorry! I have no control over my dreams. It’s not my fault!” he argued.
“It is if you’re thinking about my vagina being floppy and saggy!” I yelled back, digging under the sheet for my underwear and sliding them back on.
“No! Please! I need that!” Drew whined as I roll angrily away from him after I pulled my underwear all the way up.
I felt the bed shift and the heat of his stomach against my back. He rested his chin on my shoulder, and I was hoping he was coming up with a really good apology for this crap.
“Can I just stick the tip back in?” he whispered against my ear. “If your vagina is still sore, we could just do anal. That would be awesome, right?”
I had shoved my elbow back and into his stomach as hard as I could. While he was moaning and whimpering like a baby next to me in bed, our REAL baby had started crying over the monitor.
That episode was six weeks ago and Drew hasn’t even attempted to try and have sex with me since then. Well, aside from the sex swing I guess. I’ve forgiven him for his stupidity because, well, he’s a guy and guys are stupid. But I’m still not really in the mood for sex, which brings us back to the lesson Liz and Claire are trying to teach me.
“You don’t want Drew to think you don’t want him. Hence the phrase, ‘fake it till you make it.’ If you start off faking that you want it, eventually you’ll get back into the flow of things and really start to want it.”
Does Drew really think I don’t want him anymore? I don’t want him to think that.
“Drew is never going to buy it. He’s going to know right away if I fake an orgasm.”
Claire and Liz burst out laughing.
“You’re kidding right? There is no possible way he would ever know,” Liz informs me.
“Oh believe me, Drew would know. He says he can feel it when I come. He says my vagina squeezes him if he’s inside me, and it tastes different if he’s going down on me,” I tell them.
“What the fuck are you ingesting before you have sex that he can taste it, straight gasoline?” Liz asks.
“Why would Drew lie to me about something like that?”
“Why wouldn’t Drew lie to you about something like that? Every woman has asked her guy if he can tell when she’s coming. We don’t ask because we want to know if he can feel just how amazing it is and thereby boost his ego because he can get you off. We ask just to make sure he can’t tell so when we fake it, he won’t be the wiser. Even though we all have the same working body parts, every guy’s answer is usually different. Proving that they have no idea, aside from the sounds we make,” Liz explains.
“Carter told me he can tell when I’m coming because I start breathing faster. I’m usually breathing faster because I’m tired as shit and out of shape and I think my heart is going to give out,” Claire says.
“Jim told me he knows because I always smack his ass right before I come. I do that so he’ll hurry the fuck up because I want to go to sleep or because Top Chef is coming on,” Liz adds.
I stare at both women in shock and cannot believe this has been happening all these years, and I've known nothing about it. I had never known women faked orgasms with their husbands. It makes no sense to me. Why would you marry someone if they couldn’t give you an orgasm? Liz and Claire’s marriages are solid as a rock though, so they must be on to something.
“Fine, get to the faking part so I can see what this is all about.”
“It will be my fake pleasure,” Liz says with a smile as she fast forwards the movie.
~
An hour and a half later, we’re sitting at a local hole in the wall bar a few blocks from Liz and Claire’s shop, and I’m still in shock by that movie.
“I mean, it was so real,” I tell them in awe.
“I know, right? You would have totally thought Billy Crystal was giving it to Meg Ryan under the table,” Liz says as she drinks the last of her beer and signals the waitress for another round.
We decide that since we were without children or husbands we should make the most of it and get some drinks. Plus, the girls are convinced that a little liquid courage will help with the faking I plan on testing out this evening, but they have yet to order me any.
The waitress comes to our table a few minutes later and Claire and Liz each order another beer.
“I’ll take whatever size Liquid Courage you have on draft,” I tell her with a smile.
“I’m sorry, what?” the waitress asks in confusion.
“I don’t know. My friends told me to order it. Do you guys not have it? Maybe it’s new.”
Liz leans over and covers my mouth with her hand. “Just bring her a drink with the highest proof alcohol you’ve got.”
Claire is laughing and typing something into her cell phone.
“What are you doing? Are you putting that on Facebook? Don’t you dare! How was I supposed to know it wasn’t a brand of beer?” I complain.